


Reforged

by Levade



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family Issues, Feanaro reborn, Forgiveness, Gen, consequences of the Oath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 05:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Levade/pseuds/Levade
Summary: Fëanáro is released from the Halls of Mandos and goes to see Mahtan before being sent back to Middle-earth.





	Reforged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ariana (Ariana_El)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/gifts).

> Ariana's request: _This is my new discovery of recent, both in reading and in writing, and I would love to see those two. Young Feanor in Mahtan’s forges and their master-apprentice relation perhaps? Or maybe later? Perhaps Mahtan watching Feanor court his daughter? Or, if you like wild AUs – perhaps somehow Mahtan meets reborn Feanor? How would their relations look then?_

He was nervous. Stopping outside of the workshop, still in the shadow of the trees that had grown up since he was last there, Fëanáro took several deep breaths and ordered his heart rate to slow and his breathing to even out. It was ridiculous, this new body! He had assumed, upon being told that he was going to be re-embodied, that the Valar would return his body to its prior state. Oh, it was perfect, this new body, without the lash-marks from the Balrogs, but all of his scars were gone. The one from where Nerdanel had accidentally moved the ladle of scalding-hot metal and a drop had burned his forearm. The long, thin scar from Maitimo’s mishandling of a knife, and the slight crescent from when Curufin had….

No. No, it was best not to think of Nerdanel or his sons. She had refused him, refused to see him. It broke his heart. It infuriated him. 

Fëanáro was conflicted as he had never been in his prior life. 

And he hated that.

He steadied his nerves and pulled his focus to the present moment. Mahtan was in the workshop. He could hear the familiar rhythmic sharp pounding of metal on an anvil, and suddenly his hands ached to hold a hammer and create…. Anything. A ring. A fork. Just to be able to make __something__. 

Fëanáro took one step forward, then another, his uncertainty melting in his desire to once again smell the bitter bite of hot metal and revel in the heat of the forge. He walked to the entry of the large workshop and stopped, gaze going to the figure standing before the forge. 

Mahtan’s back was to him, but the fiery red hair and muscled shoulders and arms could be that of no one else. He hummed as he worked, a trait that had, at times, annoyed a young Fëanáro, but now was achingly familiar. Mahtan had taught him to forge, how to heat metal so that it was pliable and open to a new form. Taught him the creation of jewels and other art forms. He had shown him so much more, about life and how a good father treated his children, and he had not stood in the way when young Fëanáro had fallen deeply in love with his beloved daughter, though they had both been scandalously young. 

Mahtan had been a second father, the one who rebuked him when he was wrong and challenged him to be more than a mere prince. He had welcomed Fëanáro into his family and treated him as a son. 

Throat tight, mouth suddenly too dry to speak, Fëanáro stepped into the workshop and halted. There were gems on a nearby table, some in a raw form, not yet faceted, and others ready to be set into an exquisite necklace or brooch. His heart jumped a beat when he saw a brilliant white gem, all but luminescent and breathing as it reflected the fiery colors of the forge.

Fëanáro waited, half-expecting to feel an allure to it, but after a moment realized it was just a gem. A compressed bit of carbon that had been made beautiful in the forge of Arda and nothing more. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and looked up to find Mahtan had turned and was staring at him, eyes wide.

“Mahtan.” For a moment pride warred with his mind, then Fëanáro bowed, eyes cast down. As he straightened and again met the smith’s eyes, he read the astonished surprise and Fëanáro’s chin rose. “If you wish me to leave-”

“Fëanáro.” Mahtan swallowed visibly and carefully set the hammer in his hand aside. “No one informed me you had been released.”

“No.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “I doubt they wanted anyone to know lest they come and protest.” His chin rose another notch. “I suppose you expected me to be cast into the everlasting darkness?” 

The grey eyes appraised him, Mahtan saying nothing for a long moment that seemed to stretch forever to Fëanáro. He nodded and turned, shoulders stiff. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

A strong grip on his bicep turned him and Fëanáro’s eyes widened as Mahtan tightened his fingers. “I would never wish you to everlasting darkness. Fëanáro.” Carefully releasing him and stepping back, the smith shook his head. “You broke my daughter’s heart.” Leaving unspoken that his own heart had broken as well.

There was an angry rumble in the smith’s voice and Fëanáro watched him warily. “That was never my intention.” He looked away, unable and unwilling to dissect his emotions in front of his wife’s father. Or anyone. It had been excruciating to stand in the Máhanaxar in the presence of the Valar and be judged for every single deed and word of his life. 

He had been there before, after threatening Nolofinwë. That had been so simple, and he had been so angry. 

It was not so simple the second time. But they had released him. That had to count for something! 

Meeting the grey gaze again, Fëanáro’s voice was even. “My intent was not to hurt anyone, and yet I did. I have been reminded time and again that humility is not a terrible thing.”

Mahtan snorted. “Uncomfortable though, isn’t it?” He waved away the indignant glare. “You were always proud, Fëanáro, but that never bothered me. You had reason to be proud.” 

There was sadness in the gaze that studied his face, and Fëanáro shifted, uneasy with the scrutiny. “I have been weighed and judged by the Valar.” He said it without bitterness. The Valar had …surprised him and that was unexpected. Not that his mind was changed about them.

But perhaps he was…willing to re-think his opinions. Especially those thoughts they showed him had been tainted by Morgoth. Showed him in excruciating detail, and to his shock, his fëa, scoured of any dark influence, had resonated in agreement.

His hatred for Morgoth burned even hotter than before, and oh, the Vala would pay for what he had wrought someday, but alive and re-embodied, Fëanáro’s greatest desire had been to see those he loved.

Those who were not, even now. in Námo’s keeping.

He had hope, hope that some day they would also be released. If the Valar had set him free, why would they not release his sons?

Someday. Námo had been silent but Fëanáro took that as it was yet a possibility.

“Yes.” Mahtan rubbed his chin, smearing ash on his already dirty face. “And my daughter?”

“Refused to see me.” He let Mahtan see his pain at the rejection. “I know she has reason.” Fëanáro shook his head. “I…”

“Do you love her still?”

Head snapping up, Fëanáro’s eyes fired. “There will never be anyone for me but Nerdanel.” Scowling he gestured to outside. “They think I did not love my wife or my sons well, for if I had, how could I have sworn such a horrendous oath and allowed them to also swear.” Mouth twisting into a bitter frown, he shook his head. “They will never know what it was like to be helpless to do anything but watch Vaire’s tapestries and see my sons fail and fall, one by one. I knew it was my Oath that damned them and drove them!” Eyes glinting with fire and tears, he met Mahtan’s gaze. “I would not wish that on any elf.”

“Nor would I.” Mahtan’s voice was quiet. “What of my grandsons?”

A single tear fell and rolled down his cheek as Fëanáro shook his head slowly. “The Valar would not speak to me of their fates. Only that Makalaurë alone survived and lives still in Middle-earth.” Alone. He could not stand that thought and wanted nothing more than to find Makalaurë. To speak again to him and tell him how he loved him.

And that he was sorry for all that Makalaurë had endured. It would not be enough, would never be enough, but he had to try. He would not forsake his son!

Both men were silent, lost in thought before Mahtan sighed. “What will you do now, Fëanáro? Why did you come here?”

Lifting his hands, his perfect, unscarred hands, Fëanáro gazed at them. “In the Halls of Mandos, there is no creating of anything new. No works of the hands, not that a fëa has hands to hold a hammer or tool. There is only contemplation and memory.” And that had been torture. The Valar could not have devised a better punishment. He shook his head. “I went first to see if Nerdanel would speak with me, but I was turned away. I came here.” 

“Hoping for what?” Mahtan frowned. “Forgiveness?”

“No.” Fëanáro let his hands drop. “I would not ask that of you, Mahtan.” 

“Then why did you come to me?”

“I wanted….” Looking around the workshop, so familiar still, as if nothing had changed in the thousands of years since he had first apprenticed with Mahtan and met Nerdanel, Fëanáro grimaced. “Familiarity. Something I remembered, something that held no painful memories.” He looked up. “I was happy here.” Deliriously happy. So young in love and so full of fire to show everyone what he could create. He had only wanted to create new things and explore the world, Nerdanel at his side. 

It had all gone so terribly wrong at the end.

Pushing the memories aside, he focused again on Mahtan. “Thank you for speaking to me. I won’t bother you again.” He hesitated. “I…I’ll be gone for a long while.”

“Gone. Gone where, Fëanáro? You were just released. Where will you go?”

He had no idea. They had told him so little. “The Valar released me for a purpose. One I cannot share, but to say it will take me from these lands for some time I suspect.” He took a step back and bowed his head. “Be well, Mahtan. Thank you for -”

Fëanáro had no time to move, no time to react. Mahtan moved quickly for a large man, and engulfed Fëanáro in a crushing embrace. Stiffening in surprise, Fëanáro tentatively returned the embrace and pressed his face into his wife’s father’s shoulder. His eyes burned as Mahtan tightened his grip and held him for a long moment. 

Finally, Mahtan set him gently back and held his gaze. The grey eyes were wet with tears but fierce. “Listen to me, Fëanáro Finwion. There are still people who remember you, the ****real ****you. Before the Darkness and the lies of Morgoth. You were and are still a good man. I know you love my daughter and your sons. So wherever it is that you are going, you remember this.” He shook Fëanáro’s shoulders. “You come home to us. Do you hear me? Yes, we are angry and hurt, but we still love you.” Mahtan pulled him closer and pressed his forehead against Fëanáro’s. “You are family. My son. Always. Promise me you will remember that.”

Throat tight, Fëanáro gripped Mahtan’s forearms. “I will remember.”

Pushing him back, Mahtan let his hands fall away, and nodded. “I am going to hold you to that, Fëanáro. Call it a new apprenticeship. You come back here after the Valar are done with…whatever they’re sending you to do. And we will begin anew.” A fierce light shined in his eyes. “We will show them that this world has wonders yet to be made.”

“I will return.” Fëanáro was solemn as he spoke the words but his heart felt lighter than it had since it had started beating again. “Thank you…father.”

He left the workshop then, and headed back to the woods where Oromë was waiting. Meeting the Vala’s gaze, Fëanáro nodded. “I am ready.”

“Then let us get you to the docks, Fëanáro. A ship and two companions are awaiting you!”


End file.
